I Like Pigeons Because Nobody Else Does

Baby crows have blue eyes. They turn brown as they age.

The crows are too smart. Maybe smarter than the power company.

Mikoto Odagiri, an official of the Tokyo Electric Power Co.

There’s a lack of communication here. Crows send many signals. When the salaryman going to work or the mother with a baby goes under a tree with a nest, the crows give nasty cries to say, ‘Please leave our living circle.’ But city people miss the sign. It’s a problem for the crows. They are perplexed, and they send more signals that are ignored. The only thing they can do is be more aggressive.

Michio Matsuda, ornithologist and author of “Why Crows Attack”

The New Sanno (the US military hotel in Tokyo) has a package deal where you can get a room on the weekend if you eat at their restaurant, Wellington’s. That’s pretty much the only way you’re going to get a reservation on the weekend, but nobody has to twist our arms to dine there. The food is fabulous and very reasonable for a quality restaurant in Tokyo.

We decided to drive since we had to carry decent clothing for the evening and it was a piece of cake. I had some unfounded trepidation about driving in Tokyo, but it was no problem at all and only took about an hour. We dropped the car off at the hotel and took the train downtown to a German beer festival in Hibiya Park. It was a lively festival made even more spirited by the enormous glasses of hefe-weisen being consumed en-masse by the people in attendance. The food was pretty good. I had a soft pretzel and a plate of potato pancakes…and a lot of beer which was kind of a mistake. Everyone knows that hot sun and beer are a lethal combination.

They had three bands scheduled, one of which was a polka ensemble of two German guys. While waiting for them to play, we were subjected to probably the worst singers I’ve ever heard. They were a couple of old American guys playing blues songs and they were simply awful. We moved to the tables as far away from them as possible with the intent to distance ourselves from the din and also to minimize any association to these tone-deaf Americans. The funny thing was that all the other Americans and Europeans in attendance were equally repulsed and soon everyone with round eyes had polarized themselves from the band and were sitting in our area. The auditory train-wreck didn’t seem to put a damper on the festivities of a particular group of Nihonjin because they were really whooping it up.

The Emporer’s palace was a short distance from Hibiya Park so we walked over there to have a look around. Pretty cool. Then we went back to the hotel for a desperately-needed nap and our sumptuous dinner in the hotel restaurant. We came back to the base this morning after a large breakfast. I’m tired of eating and it’s time for some exercise.

Gene and I are going to Tokyo this weekend to do some sightseeing and eating. Not a whole lot going on otherwise. It’s pouring down rain right now and if it continues tomorrow it will put a serious damper on our fun.

I took the preliminary paperwork to a crabby guy at the shipping office yesterday to have our household items shipped back to the states. So now we have to go to a “PCS counseling meeting” on June 4th. What that involves, I have no idea, but it will likely be painful.

More sumo photos:

May 23, Rikishi quotes

Asashoryu to the throng of reporters surrounding him in the dressing room:

“Don’t get too close to me!”

Asashoryu on his first loss:

 ”My tachi-ai sucked. I looked past him too much, but that’s sumo for you…a trapdoor where you least expect it. I failed at the tachi-ai, I failed myself, it was all a failure. But hey, I’ll have fun chasing him down.”

I mentioned last post that I was going to sumo again. I went. Holy crap. Last night definitely ranks as one of the top experiences I’ve had here. It was an incredible cultural experience and just exciting as hell. Some people look upon this as an undesirable character trait, but I will freely admit with no reservations that I really like a good fight. No doubt the reason I enjoyed last night so much.

Frankly, I don’t understand any of it – the rules, ranking, nothing. But after last night I do now know that there is a lot more involved that what one sees on TV. Most of the matches lasted only a few seconds, a few of them maybe 20 or 30 seconds at the most. But what was so amazing was how every single move counts. Nothing can be wasted or it will all be over in a blink of an eye. Those familiar with Japanese culture can probably see some parallels here with regard to the fleetingness of so many other facets of art and life.  The Nihon Sumo Kyokai Official Grand Sumo Home Page is a fantastic resource for anyone wishing to learn more about sumo. They have full explanations of the history, ranking procedures, fight techniques, terminology and even sumo exercises that you can go at home – which really aren’t too far removed from Yoga.

I was also amazed by their incredible power. Those buttcheeks and legs might look fat, but they’re all muscle. And the sound produced by two enormous wrestlers slamming into each other is enough to make one cringe. You don’t get the sound effects on TV which really adds to the ambience.

There are 15 days in each tournament and several tournaments a year. Last night was the 10th day of the May tournament. I’m not sure how opponents are matched, but there are rankings and you can determine what rank a fighter is by his hairstyle and mawashi (loincoth). There is a top fighter, only one at a time, called the Yokozuna. The reigning Yokozuna is this guy:

a Mongolian who has taken the Japanese name Asashoryu. His real name is Dolgorsuren Dagvadorj.  If you’re wondering why it seems as if he’s looking right at me, it’s because he was. A new friend of mine, Hiromi-san were the lucky guests of a mutual friend and were honored with the best seat in the house. All the action played out right in front of our box seat as we ate yakitori and frozen mikan sherbet. Hiromi told me that the particular seat we were occupying is always reserved for the Prime Minister on the last night of the tournament.

Asashoyru fought last, the biggest and most important night of the fight. He lost to his opponent and immediately following his downfall, the audience went wild (as wild as a crowd of Nihonjin are going to get) and starting throwing their zabutons (pillows) into the ring. Hiromi and I were being pelted with zabuton from behind and ended up with half a dozen or so in our box.

I repeatedly read how “secretive” Japanese people are and how it’s so tough to “penetrate” their society. The people making these claims must have been to this country in another space and time because I have found the exact opposite to be true. Take this “luck” of mine in getting this incredible opportunity last night. I repeatedly have opportunities like that and it’s not because I’m lucky. It’s because I take the time to express genuine and serious interest in Japanese people and culture and when people find out that you give a damn about their lives and culture, they are very willing to share. And I just don’t mean in the sense of getting to do cool things like go to fights and dress up in a kimono, but on a much more personal level too. I am a firm believer in the fact that the more you give, the more you receive.  Someone was in a position to show an interested foreigner one of the most important traditions in one of the most unique cultures in the world and I happened to be the “lucky” recipient. Enthusiasm and an adventurous spirit can get you a long way!

By Thursday my guests didn’t seem to be wearing down at all…but I was. I was actually starting to wonder if something was wrong with me because I was so tired. But I guess after a week of talking pretty much non-stop, hours and hours spent on a train, and general sensory overload, any normal person would be exhausted. Liz just emailed me and said they returned home on Saturday and she went to bed at 11pm and woke up at 3:35 the next day, so I guess it wasn’t just me.

Coincidentally the 2007 May Grand Sumo Tournament started the same day of their arrival, so I got us tickets for Thursday. I had no idea what to expect and since our tickets were cheap, I assumed we’d be very far away from the action. We had reservations at a hotel that night in Tokyo after a full day of sightseeing and I didn’t feel like dragging around a whole complement of heavy camera equipment, so I left it at home. Which was a total mistake because we had decent seats and the photos would have been fantastic. I took my old camera, a small Canon G5 and got these really poor shots. But, as luck would have it, a friend of mine hooked me up with a ringside seat at today’s match! We’re leaving at 1pm and I’m taking all my good equipment so check back soon to see the results of my first foray into sports photography.

After sumo we went next door to the Edo-Tokyo Museum which was really nice.

The Edo-Tokyo Museum was founded on March 28,1993, as the place, where visitors come to learn more about Tokyo’s history and culture , and which also serves as a projection onto the city and the living of the future. In the Permanent Exhibition area, there can be found original and replicated exhibits, as well as large-scale models, faithful representations of their originals, which have been reproduced after painstaking investigations and research.

If you are interested in the history of Tokyo and the Edo period, this is a great place to get a lot of history packed into a couple of hours. The exhibits are very well done and it’s a tremendous learning opportunity.

After the musuem, and a short stop in Akihabara, we went to our hotel and relaxed for a bit with some dinner before heading back out to Shibuya for some karaoke. I love karaoke, but I do have a complaint about the accompanying visuals. Two of the many songs we sang were Lynyrd Syknyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama and AC-DC’s Touch Too Much. I know, I know, tired old songs by American standards, but when you’ve been away from your native culture this long they take on a a whole new significance, just trust me. Here’s a shot of the screen for each song which is just one illustration of some of the many American cultural items here that are gruesomely botched in translation:

Pastel Downtown Miami + Lynryd Skynryd = Ronnie Van Zandt coming back from the grave to kick some Japanese karaoke producer’s ass. Everyone knows that a guy in a wife-beater and a can of Budweiser should be involved somehow.

I was a little late with the camera for the AC-DC one. Immediately before that tree scene, they showed a very cute close-up of an Eastern Gray Squirrel.  Bucolic park scenes of picnickers and cute squirrels paired with Bon Scott (a man who died in the back of a car, the result of choking on his own vomit after a night of ribald behavior and power drinking) screeching things like She wanted it hard, And wanted it fast, She liked it done medium rare is a bizarre juxtaposition.  Although I really enjoy those types of scenes, and squirrels, they’re not exactly conducive to rockin’ out to a debauched AC-DC song. Oh well, I guess that’s what the shochu is for and I can’t really blame that karaoke people either. Those are the kinds of things you just don’t get unless you really live in the US.
 I almost forgot to mention day 6. We slept in pretty late (our hotel, despite being a government facility, had temperature control which was a welcome relief from our apartment here on base. The system-wide heat was turned off about 2 months ago and the air conditioning will not come on until the authorities deem it appropriate, usually the end of May. You can imagine what it’s like on the 9th floor where we live. I slept great at the hotel!) and then had a leisurely breakfast before setting off for the base. I wasn’t expecting a crowded train since it was 11:30 by the time we were ready to leave Tokyo. Boy, was I wrong! We got on the Yamanote Line at Ebisu with the intent to switch trains at Shinagawa and it was one of the top 3 most-crowded trains I’ve been on yet. I can’t handle that kind of crowding and like the rest of the Japanese commuters, I retreated into my own dark place in my mind and just kind of shut down. That’s the only way to cope. Foreigners get on trains in Japan and just don’t understand why everyone looks like a stonefaced zombie – it’s only a coping mechanism.  They’re just hiding as best they can. My friends were not used to this kind of thing and of course were at a loss as to what to do.  I am actually glad that they got a great good-bye gift from the city of Tokyo; the infamous sardine-packed Yamanote Line! Chalk it up to one more cultural experience!

I had a hair appointment in Harajuku on Tuesday at 3pm, so I left the house at 9am with the intent of checking out Kappabashi, Tokyo’s kitchenware district. But I read the Japanese news that morning and found that there were sakura already blooming in Ueno Park. I figured I’d check out the sakura then head to Kappabashi Dori and then on to Aki’s to get beautified. The weather was fabulous – about 60F and full, warm sun.

Ueno Park has over 1000 sakura and 5 of them were in bloom in early February. I would not be surprised if that set a record. It wasn’t hard to find the trees – all I had to do was look for the crowd of people oohing and aahing (exept they don’t ooh and aah here, it’s more of an ehhhh) and snapping photos.

I was hanging out with the crowd admiring the trees when I heard a man’s voice yelling something with some amount of distress and anger. I turned and saw a tiny and toothless old man running up a hill into the trees chasing a large orange tomcat.  A second later I noticed a large parrot in a cage and deduced that the bird belonged to the old man and that the cat was stalking the bird.  A beautiful parrot sitting in the sun was just too much for me to resist so I approached the old man and said to him あなたの鳥は素敵です! (Your bird is beautiful!). That icebreaker worked because the man grinned at me half in shock that I spoke intelligible Japanese and I proceeded to have a conversation (I am sure I sounded like a 3 year old) with him about the bird.  The bird seemed to be very well taken care of as evidenced by his flawless plumage and outgoing demeanor. So I asked the bird 英語が分かりますか (do you understand English?). I don’t know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t for the bird to respond to me in Japanese…but that’s exactly what he did followed by a giggle that perfectly mimicked the old man’s laugh.

I hung out with the bird and man until I’d exhausted my limited Japanese and had to start repeating myself. There were a couple of Peruvian guys (for some reason there seems to be a lot of Peruvians here and I have no idea why) playing traditional music and singing so I sat down to watch them and stalk passersby with my camera. I’ve really been wanting to get better at taking candid street shots and Ueno Park is a great place to practice. Last week I bought a 100mm f2.8 macro lens and it has turned out to be probably the nicest lens I own. The sharpness and color of the photos is just unbelievable. I took a photo of the parrot that left me speechless when I downloaded it on my computer.  Although not the best compositionally speaking, the color and definition of the feathers just blew me away.  You can’t see the quality on the photos I post here because I have to shrink them for the web.

As I was sitting there taking pictures I was accosted by another old Japanese man who talked without taking a breath for 5 minutes at a time. His English was quite good and I was audience to a 15 minute dissertation on the advantages of smiling at foreigners and how sad it was that the Japanese crowd assembled in front of us couldn’t determine with any accuracy if the men performing were either Peruvians or Native Americans. He thought this was a terrible and embarassing cultural faux pas on the part of the Japanese. I refrained from telling him that I initially thought they were American Indians until I heard one of them speak Spanish so as not to cause him to think just one more person on this planet was a cultural clod.

I ended up bagging the Kappabashi excursion because I would have had to hurry and after enjoying the sun I didn’t feel like spending time in the concreted shade of a narrow street. I got some lunch and got back on the train to Harajuku and spent the afternoon in a salon chair trying to stave off thoughts of the ride home on a train packed full of salarimen.

It’s a good thing I had fun on Tuesday because on Wednesday morning it all came crashing down when Gene called from the hospital. “You’re not going to believe this” he said “This is the last place I thought we’d end up.” We’ve been waiting for weeks now to find out where the Navy will require Gene to serve out the last two years of his sentence. A year ago he told some Navy guy who was in charge of rearranging the radiologists that he’d prefer either Bremerton, Washington or Jacksonville, North Carolina, but aside from that he’s had no communication with anyone in charge of the decision.  I set myself up for North Carolina thinking that since Gene was a relative newcomer to the Navy, and given that he voiced his preferences, they would send him somewhere that the more experienced people think is crappy, like Camp LeJeune in North Carolina. Well, that “crappy” place is exactly where we wanted to go. I think it’s not high on peoples’ lists because there’s nothing there but redneck towns and forests – but that’s the appeal to me.

So I had myself all set up to return to NC this summer and had visions of returning occasionally to Raleigh to see friends and work at the wildlife center in Durham, exploring the Outer Banks, and spending lots of time in the pine forests of coastal NC. Stupid me. Back to the phone call. Gene continued, “San Diego”. I desperately hoped that this was just one more of his attempts to rankle me but he wasn’t kidding. I didn’t take it too well. The last thing I want to do is live in a city of 1,255,540 people. The second to last thing I want are neighbors. And the third to last thing I want is to live in California, where half the population is made of plastic and the other half can’t say much beyond “I’m between jobs. I’m writing a screenplay.”

Several people have tried to tell me I’ll like it. For example, a couple of them said they have a zoo. Zoos are prisons for animals. It’s not like a typical city, it’s spread out. Well OK, but there are still 1,255,540 people. There are all kinds of nice neighborhoods. Key word there is neighbors. Even nice neighbors are still neighbors. I don’t want to smell their stinking grill or listen to their kids or otherwise know they are there at all. After living in one of the most densely populated places on earth I want - no, I am in dire need of - solitude.

I realize I am most likely being prematurely negative, but frankly, I’m pissed off and it will take some time for the bitterness to subside…or it may just fester and rot me out from the inside and I’ll end up doing a Ted Kaczinsky. I really shouldn’t make this too difficult on Gene because it is a good career opportunity for him and I don’t think he’s terribly bummed out about it and I don’t want to ruin it for him…but goddammit, I’m so pissed off. Part of it is the fact that someone else is pulling the strings in my life. Some faceless guy shoving around papers on some desk somewhere who doesn’t even know that I exist. I hope I read this a year from now, happily slaving away at a wildlife rehabilitation hospital in the desert treating eagles and coyotes, and realize that I was all wrong, that I find that the Plastic People are really sensitive and deep and not the shallow materialistic bimbos that TV has made them out to be that there is something really charming about living in the middle of 1,255,540 people.

After all, I’ve lived among 12million people for the last 19 months, 1,255,540 people will seem like a ghost town. Right?

Yesterday was my most successful train ride to date. If I can’t sit down, look foward and if the car is hot, I am usually overtaken my motion sickness. But yesterday was an unprecedented aligning of planets and I hit the jackpot on all 3 accounts.  Mary and I got seats in the first car and I was right in front.  Returning from Tokyo was even better because we ended up in a car with foward facing seats rather than bench-style. Before coming to Japan, I thought I was free and clear of carsickness because I hadn’t been affected by it for years. However, it has returned and it’s just as bad as before. Almost every time I ride in a car or on the Keikyu Line train, infamous for making people sick, I get nauseous. The roadways here – especially those inland – are either going over, under, or through a mountain which does not allow for straight roads.  It sucks, but it has not stopped me from travelling.

Our shopping trip was a little disappointing. We had a great lunch, but didn’t do so well at the second-hand stores. I picked up a few small Christmas gifts, but that hardly dented my list.

We spotted another celebrity advertisement – Claudia Schiffer. The black and white photo is the view from the front of the train. Pretty scenery, huh?

We had a blast on our trip and mission accomplished at the Embassy: Gene completed the necessary hoo-ha to get a new passport and it should be here within two weeks. The process was surprisingly pain-free given the fact that we were dealing with the most infamously inept organization in America, the government.  I was a little worried that finding the embassy would be a problem since the online map was a bit weak, but I shouldn’t have worried because it’s always easy to track down nerve centers of American activity in Japan; there’s a direct relationship between proximity of the American point of interest and the number of fatties you see on the street. 

We arrived at the New Sanno (American military hotel in downtown Tokyo) late in the afternoon. Lucky for us the management was testing the fire alarms on our wing of the building that same afternoon, so we were assured a night of restful sleep knowing that fire safety was of paramount priority. I was able to get one of the Japanese suites which are fairly authentic and are great fun without going too hard-core Japanese. That’s tough for some people. I love being immersed in culture like that, of course, but not every gaijin appreciates a public bath and a squatter toilet.

After having a beer in the delightful ambiance of our room and the screeching fire alarm, we decided to eat at one of the hotel restaurants. Given the fire alarm situation, we weren’t expecting much but as it turned out we actually had one of the best meals we’ve ever eaten for about a third of the price we would have paid for a comparable meal outside the hotel. The food was really fantastic and the service was exquisite.

After dinner we took the train to Shinjuku Station and then a taxi to the Park Hyatt and ascended the elevator to the 52nd floor to the New York Bar, the place where Bill Murray spent most of his time in Lost in Translation and which is billed as the swankiest venue in Tokyo and the place to “be seen”.  This is probably the only bad review of this place you’ll ever read, but I am not about to cut them any slack just because their reputation is off the swank scale. Maybe my expectations were too high, but how on earth could someone from Manheim PA have expectations that exceed a place that is the apex of luxury? Well, crappy service is crappy service, it doesn’t matter if you’re at a truck stop in Lizard Lick NC, or at the top of a skyscraper in Tokyo.

No doubt, the place is cool – and it should be when you’re paying several thousand dollars a night for a room. We got a good look at the other restaurants and they were really nice. So was the general decor of the whole hotel. We exited the elevator on the 52nd floor and were met with a stunning nighttime view of Tokyo. Pretty cool. We walked to the bar area and seated ourselves at an empty table with a good view of the city…well, maybe not that good, because in our field of view were two skeletal gaijins in t-shirts(!) that fancied themselves as “hipsters”, whatever the hell a hipster is, but they just had that look. OK, strike one. It always irks me to get all gussied up to go to a nice place and find that some slob walks in in jeans or a t-shirt. It just trashes the whole atmosphere.

There was a band playing that could have been better. They were a gaijin jazz band and they were mediocre. I guess maybe they cut corners on weeknights and save Diana Krall for the weekend. OK, I can understand that. We ordered drinks. Gene ordered a martini that was what one would expect at ¥1800; quite large. I ordered a Guinness that was served in something resembling a champagne flute. What?! Blasphemy! Strike two!

When Gene was ready for another drink, we had to flag down the guy who seemed like he was the manager of the place. I ordered a water that was never delivered. Strike 3. Our total cost for the night was over ¥9000 (that’s about 80 bucks) for three drinks, one of which was a defiled Guinness.  The accompanying bar food were those little rice crackers of various shapes you can buy at Lawson’s. Maybe they had us pegged as hangers-on from the movie, but I don’t think that since they’ve garnered that kind of fame from the movie that it should be an excuse for crappy service.

But in spite of all that we had a great time. The view really is incredible and the blind-drunk guy at the bar was spectacular entertainment (see photo below). My itinerary included a trip to Shibuya after the Park Hyatt, but we were too tired and went back to the hotel. We saved the Shibuya excursion for after the embassy and then took the train back home. It would have been nice to do more while Gene had the chance since he doesn’t get to Tokyo very often, but just being there amid all those people is exhausting and we had had enough of being on trains. Every time I go, I come home completely wiped out even just going to get my hair done. I don’t know what it is – maybe sensory overload.

Here are snapshots from the trip: the drunk, Gene enjoying the train and his yukata, me in the room and at the bar overlooking the city that you can’t see, and Gene in Shibuya.